


getting lit with beelzebub and gabriel

by annapotterkiku, honeyedgold



Series: silly philosophy with anthony janthony crowley and aziraphale ziraphale fell (and other related persons) [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Biting, Choking, Cigars, Dominant Bottom, Dominant Masochism, Friends With Benefits, Mentioned Crowley (Good Omens), Mentioned Hastur (Good Omens), Mentioned Ligur (Good Omens), Other, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Play, References to Addiction, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Smoking, Smut, top!Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 23:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapotterkiku/pseuds/annapotterkiku, https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedgold/pseuds/honeyedgold
Summary: Truthfully, of all the odors in the world, Beelzebub loved the rotten scent of a soul led astray the most. Over 6000 years of preparation to rip each other apart, only to be foiled by two useless lumps and one disobedient brat. Gabriel may be good at hiding things behind an affable smile, but he couldn’t - could never - do it in zir company. Beelzebub let Gabriel conquer zem, let him heap all his grievances onto them like a chew toy. The wrath of an Archangel belonged to zem.





	getting lit with beelzebub and gabriel

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [phê thuốc lào cùng với beelzebub và gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20414920) by [annapotterkiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapotterkiku/pseuds/annapotterkiku). 

> TRANSLATOR’S NOTE:  
I am ace. I am a _sex-repulsed ace._ Why in all the name of Heaven’s stabby hosts am I translating this? 
> 
> Oh. Right. I’m a kinky shit who loves me some Foe Yay. Also, this uses metaphors to kinda skirt around the issue a little. It’s not like I haven’t written sex scenes before. (Also with liberal uses of metaphors and fades to black.)
> 
> I would like to apologize to anyone who uses ze/zem/zir pronouns… I have no idea how to use them without fucking them up. But since Word of Gaiman said that’s what Beelzebub uses, I must oblige. Corrections are welcome.

In autumn each year, leaves fall from the branches -

Just kidding. There are no leaves to fall in Hell.

There’s no autumn either, because the markers of time and season belong to the simple humans. What Hell has is heat, fire-scalding heat, lava-pouring heat, pancake-frying heat. Imagine a heat wave to the nth power, add several waste tanks on fire, and a moat containing five thousand stink bugs, also on fire. No, wait, there’s also two billion fireproof cockroaches zooming around everywhere. Got it, then? Downstairs’ climate is about a billion times worse than that. 

But according to human calendars, the Fall equinox would be in exactly three days’ time. Said equinox is when Heaven and Hell holds the annual Summit meetings. Beelzebub hated this day the most. Fafillions of paperwork, dispatches, reports that needed to be drafted, stamped, checked. Fafillions of things that needed to be done unless ze wanted to quell unrest all the way until the next Fall equinox. Beelzebub did not want that. Ze would still like to believe ze still held the ultimate authority in this place. But no matter how ze abused their powers, threatened, snapped, and dealt out punishments, not-so-quiet whispers were still banging on the door of zir office. 

This year’s Fall equinox is a disaster. 

Everything is Crowley’s fault. 

Beelzebub should have already taken a blade to Gabriel’s neck and scooped his eyes out for a personal trophy, but that didn’t happen. Things that were supposed to happen - war, famine, pollution, death - didn’t, as if someone had pressed a button to make them go away. Hell’s entire upcoming Five-Year Plan fell apart completely. Ligur was assassinated. Hastur had to block his door from the wrath of the entire underworld. Dagon must be buried alive in complaint letters. Beelzebub’s autonomous region is on the threshold of a riot. Zir flies are being cooked in the searing heat.

Everything. Is Crowley’s fault. 

Beelzebub had sworn to zemself that even though that demon had become some holy-water-proof thing, ze would still rip him from his anus to his scalp. 

But first, what ze needs is a distraction. 

And a cigar. 

* * *

"How is everything?" Gabriel spoke up, then put his mouth to use in lighting a heavy duty Cuban cigar. He inhaled, leaned on the stack of silk pillows, then exhaled slowly as if he was pouring all his stress into the white smoke. The small room overlooked the streets of Havana, was bathed in an English fog, hot as Hell, and filled with the herbal sweetness of the cigar. 

Above him, Beelzebub was moving without stopping, but every flicker of zir hips was so mechanical and stiff it was boring. 

"Shut up." Ze said, flatly, keeping the same speed and rhythm. 

Gabriel laughed. Angered, Beelzebub snatched the cigar from his hand and took a long inhale. The ashes cascaded down, flashing as they land on the sculpted chest of the Archangel, then vanished. He reached out and held zir trembling hand, steadying the cigar. 

"That’s your fifth, Ba’al. You’re intoxicated." He said, as blandly as if he was relating a fun fact. And that was the truth. Ze was intoxicated. 

The cigar was suddenly in Beelzebub’s other hand. Without even a blink, ze pressed the burning end of the cigar into his neck. Right on the carotid artery. Gabriel hissed, more out of surprise than pain. He sprang up, one hand around Beelzebub’s wrist, the other around zir neck.

Beelzebub smiled. Ze felt the heat of Heaven burning zem from within, pleasure rushing in waves along with the cold glare from violet eyes. Satisfied, ze dropped the cigar. It burned a black circle on the pristine white sheets, then fell into the black hole of its own making, into oblivion. 

The wound on Gabriel’s neck was still burning red. His rough hand was still tight around zir neck. Strangling.

Beelzebub slowly lifted zir hips, then sat down again, zir eyes still not leaving the icy stare. Zir expression did not change. Ze sped up. Dip, dip, dip. The smoke could hide Gabriel’s flushed face, but not his gaze boring into zem. The clash of skin against skin blended into increasingly labored breaths. The sweetness of the cigar soon was replaced by the tang of arousal. 

The restraint around Beelzebub’s neck suddenly annoyed zem - ze grasped at the hand choking zir, clawing at it. Something flashed in Gabriel’s eyes. The hand on Beelzebub’s neck knocked zem on zir back onto the bed. Ze let slip a dry groan from zir throat. The angel with the upper hand forged ahead, his larger body pinning zem in place despite zir struggling. The flaming sword of Heaven coldly forced its way in, viciously impaling zir body, the pain so intense it was hard to breathe. 

Beelzebub stared at him, challenging. Zir body had long ceased resisting. Pain turned into something akin to pleasure, because there was something in those violet eyes that were decidedly not Heavenly. 

Truthfully, of all the odors in the world, Beelzebub loved the rotten scent of a soul led astray the most. Over 6000 years of preparation to rip each other apart, only to be foiled by two useless lumps and one disobedient brat. Gabriel may be good at hiding things behind an affable smile, but he couldn’t - could never - do it in zir company. Beelzebub let Gabriel conquer zem, let him heap all his grievances onto them like a chew toy. The wrath of an Archangel belonged to zem. 

The hand on Beelzebub’s neck was shortly replaced by Gabriel’s mouth. He buried his face into zir shoulders and bit, muffling the increasingly louder moans forming in his throat, his hips digging into zir in fast, short bursts. Erratic. Beelzebub wanted to see it. Ze dug a hand into the brown hair and dragged Gabriel out of the hole he had been hiding in. Violet eyes closed tightly, brows furrowed, climaxes arriving in waves, ceaselessly leaving his agape mouth. The Havana sun cast shadows on the beautiful face suffused in pleasure. 

The strength of God, fallen to desire, softened in the flames of love. Even the false veneer of manners had been completely stripped away. There was nothing left in the purple eyes except pupils blown wide, somewhat unseeing, as if his essence had been stolen by a cunning thief. In some way, it was indeed true.

* * *

"Same time, next week?" Gabriel spoke up again, as lightly as he was discussing the weather, straightening his tie. 

Beelzebub thought ze deserved a medal. 

"Don’t know yet.” Ze said simply. Ze had said that last week. And the one before that. 

The angel grimaced. Then he stated languidly, "Let’s go to Honduras. I want to see the seaside."

Beelzebub stared at him. 

"What?" Gabriel looked at zem with half an eye. 

"You have too much time on your hand." Ze said.

"The same as you." The angel shrugged. It was the truth. 

Beelzebub didn’t bother to get dressed yet. The bites on zir shoulder were there, burning dully. The price to pay for glory. Ze wanted to savor it some more, before the grind of the epic failure six months ago returned to bang on zir door again. Before ze returned to the cat-and-mouse game with zir own power. 

Gabriel offered zem a wooden box. “Here.” 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow and carefully took it. Inside was a dozen of the finest Cuban cigars. 

"Don’t get too addicted." The social smile bloomed once again on the lips of the Archangel. In a flash, ze was the only one left in the small room. 

_ Who’s the real addict? _Beelzebub thought, absentmindedly pulling a cigar out. 

The earthly heat had been tamed. Simmered down. It was cold. Ze suddenly felt cold. Except in zir chest, where the sweet bite of the cigar dwelled.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: 
> 
> Gabriel's name means "Strength of God." 
> 
> Fun fact: My own names are _very shortened_ versions of "Gabrielle". 
> 
> I am so sorry to the actual Archangel, if they're watching over me. But I want to punch their fictional depiction every time he's on screen. So. There.


End file.
